


Stories of the Second Self: Save Money, Live Better

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [113]
Category: 30 Days of Night (2007), Urban Fantasy - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Chance and Odessa weren't the only ones having a rough week. A quarter of their small "quiet" town spontaneously died, and then they got up and began feeding on the rest. Joining other survivors, Chance realizes the only hope of escaping the remote town is to stock up on food from a Walmart super center. The survivors find a semi-tractor and trailer, and it's to their fortune that one of them knows how to drive it. However, vampires can drive vehicles too.
Series: Alter Idem [113]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Save Money, Live Better

No one knows what started it all.

Maybe it was a sign of how screwed up my small town was. Over the course of a week around a quarter of the population just up and died on the spot and got up days later. It didn't take them long to figure out they were vampires. Everyone else found out over the latter half of that same week.

There's that movie about the Alaskan town getting hit by vampires that came from some big cargo ship, but these bloodsuckers were our friends and neighbors. By the following Monday morning, only eight of us were left. It was a hard night for my Wife Odessa and myself, though when dawn came we were relieved.

She and I had followed instructions given by the news to stay indoors, but that hadn't helped. Mr. Grant, his son, and granddaughter all tried to break into our house to feed on us, until I repelled them with the shotgun. The son's head is all over my living room wall, so that's one less bloodsucker to deal with, but it was dawn that repelled the Grants. I can still see the burning hate in those cold oily black eyes, as Grant left the way he came through my front window.

Odessa and I knew that they'd come back for us, so we had to escape. Only the next town was tens of miles away, and the Grants destroyed our cars in the middle of the night. They would've destroyed any bicycles we might've owned, but in this small southern town biking isn't a thing.

Having not slept for two nights, we were practically walking like zombies toward the only source of food, the Walmart Supercenter. I grew up with the vague memory of local stores and more than one grocery chain, but before I graduated high school Walmart had conquered our town, and now they were the last hope we had for escape without starving.

We thought it a natural choice, and the other six survivors thought the same thing. Yet, reaching the front doors, we all then realized that the undead would likewise know the obvious answer.

"Wait," Odessa said, stopping me from breaking the glass of the entrance doors. "What if there's inside waiting for us?"

"Its daylight," the sixty-something former marine said, "How're they going to withstand the sunlight coming in?"

"Maybe it's only direct sunlight," I suggested, realizing Odessa's point.

"Do you know for sure?" a teen girl asked.

I looked at her. The girl's shirt was splattered with blood, and she arrived alone. Something in her face told me she watched her entire family die.

"I don't, and I'm out of shotgun shells," I admitted, gesturing with the empty weapon I held about the middle.

"Good thing for you I carry spares," the old marine said.

He had an AR-15 in his hands, a shotgun slung on his shoulders, and a couple pistols strapped on; one under his left armpit and the other on his right hip. He pulled out a handful of shells from his backpack and passed them over to me.

While I loaded the McMillan brothers each topped off their hunting rifles. The last two people none of us knew, a father and his little boy he arrived with on his shoulders.

"I'm Frank Tanner," he introduced himself to everyone. "And Sam's my son. We just moved out here from Arizona."

"Well Frank," I said, extending my hand before resuming a double-hold on my shotgun. "My name's Chance, and this is Odessa."

"Willie," the old marine said.

"Darla," the teen girl next spoke.

I'm Larry and that's Porter," the older McMillan brother introduced for both of them, and added, "Porter's a special-needs guy, but he's reliable around the house and around town."

"I do good," Porter echoed in his own way, and nodded proudly.

"You want someone else on point then?" Willie asked me.

"You sure?" I inquired in turn, thinking his best military days were behind him.

"Linda left me for our Lord in heaven some years back," Willie explained, "So if my number's up today I won't be too disappointed."

"I'm army myself," I declared, but waved to Willie. "Though, if you're so inclined I'm not arguing."

Willie might be old enough to collect Social Security, but his had a mean butt-stroke, and using the back of his shotgun, busted the glass door open with one crack. He knocked the rest out with swipes along the inside of the frame, and then went to the next door to repeat the process. With dawn light streaming through to the store's most immediate isles, we felt pretty safe venturing inside.

The early hours, Willie and I swept through and checked corners in advance of the others bringing in shopping carts to load up with food that would keep over time. Though, Frank let Sam hit the frozen food isle for ice cream. With whatever the kid had gone through over the last few nights, it was refreshing to see him experience something good.

However, our presence wasn't unnoticed. Darla came over from the back screaming. "They're here! Vampires!"

I dashed over ahead of Willie to discover a vampire in a Walmart vest chasing her, and shouted, "Darla, I need a clean shot!"

Within ten feet of me Darla dropped into a full slide on her stomach. I fired, pumped, and fired again, blowing the vampire off his feet. Willie arrived seconds after, and stood over the still cursing vampire. He planted his shotgun muzzle right into the neck.

"That's for killin' ma dog," Willie said, before a third loud pop.

Staring at the splatter left from the instant beheading, I looked to Willie curiously. "This one killed your dog?"

"One of 'em did," Willie told me. "I don't know which one, but as far as I'm concerned they're all guilty."

"It's all fun 'n games until you mess with a man's dog," Larry added, having arrived with Porter, both with rifles over their shoulders.

Darla got up and checked her elbow for the scuff she'd taken there, and then traded looks with us. "Hey, Willie, since you're not using your rifle."

"Needn't ask, little lady." Willie unslung his assault rifle and volunteered it easily enough to Darla.

"You know how to use that?" I asked, offering with my hand out to show her.

"Yes," she grinned at me, and proceeded to selected the safety and pulling the magazine to inspect the load.

"There's no cars out front," Larry pointed out, "So where do we think we're going with all this food?"

"I was thinkin' on swiping one of the big rigs out back," Willie suggested.

"Duh," I blurted out, "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Pro'ly 'cause you can't drive a 10-gear," Willie replied, and thumbed to himself. "But it just so happens I do."

"That sound reasonable, everybody?" I asked around, as the rest gathered to the commotion.

Not a dissenting voice or gesture in the bunch. For the rest of the day, we loaded up one of the trailers docked with the stockroom's receiving bay. If there were more vampires hiding out in the store we never saw them. Maybe discovering that blowing a head clean off was just as good as stakes, and all the rest from movies, discouraged them.

I'll never know.

Along with a huge stockpile of food, we placed inside some chairs, a couple couches, TV, a game console, you name it. Basically, the back of that thing became a home, and not known how long we were going to live out of it, we even piled up whatever new clothes we wanted.

A couple hours before sundown, we were ready to roll out. Willie drove and I rode in the passenger seat with my shotgun handy. That was something else we gathered in healthy abundance. Ammunition.

By nightfall, we were far enough away that the town wasn't visible. Willie turned on the CB to listen for what else people were saying. It seemed vampires weren't the only problem springing up.

Little did we know, all over the country and the world everything went crazy. Stories of witchcraft proliferated, but so too did a backlash of religious purists.

You had angels, and not all of them good guys. Stories of people turning to animals and lashing out. Tall tales of even taller people. People with hooves and horns- or so the one hysterical CB voice claim, and followed up with a description of antlers instead.

"Guess he's not a hunter," Willie said at that last one.

"Guess not," I agreed.

"Oh, now what the Sam Hill is this?" Willie asked, looking in his side mirror.

Checking mine, I saw the scattered glow of headlights but not the car it came from. "Seems awful close."

"Don't know which is worse, vampires or tailgaters," Willie remarked.

"Vampire tailgaters, you think?" I wondered.

At that thought, Willie drew and readied a pistol, and I got my shotgun out. True enough, a convertible sports car whipped around my side and started accelerating. I could tell from the skin of the driver and two others with her, that they were all vampires.

"Yoo-hoo!" one of them called out, and stood up from the backseat. "Pull over, so we can play!"

"Yeah, we're not doin' this," I declared, and set my shotgun on the window to fire back.

The kick of the discharge threw my aim off, since I was having to use my left and not quite have the stock to my shoulder. However, I nicked the standing vampire, who quickly dropped down before falling off the back of the car.

Next, Willie suddenly swerved into the car, and the much lighter vehicle was forced off the road. Even as they ground down, allowing us to gain distance, he heard the car's tires spitting dirt to peel out back onto the highway.

However, I also heard one of the back doors to the trailer open, and that characteristic pop of an AR-15, that I knew well, rang like music. Darla apparently did know that weapon, and used it to work over the undead driver. I doubt it killed him, but maybe his sudden swerving into a sideways tumble would do them in. Whatever the case, that was the end of the pursuit.

The next couple hours went by without incident, though Willie was tiring. "Damn, can't keep my eyes open like I use 'ta."

"Wanna get some sleep?" I offered.

"Ain't no one else can drive this," Willie answered.

"Well then, pull over," I said, "'Cause it won't help us having an accident. The rest of us can take shifts guarding."

"Yeah, okay," Willie nodded, and slowed while checking mile markers. "Jus' need me a good spot. Some place them dead'ers ain't think to look."

"What's that dirt road?" I pointed out.

"Sign some ways back says there's a park up here," Willie thumbed over his shoulder. "Good as spot as any."

It was an RV park, so good enough for the massive weight of an 18-wheeler. However, Willie wasn't satisfied until we departed even from that well-worn trail.

Where we ended up parking had a forested slope going up to our left and a semi-clear level patch to our right. Willie turned off the engine and left the truck lights off. He opened his door, and looked like he tried to move, but just shifted in his seat.

"Need help?" I asked.

"Legs're cramped," he admitted, "Gimme a sec."

"Once a marine, always a marine," I remarked.

"Now that you put'r that way--." Willie got his gumption and hopped out.

I exited through his door, seeing as how we were kinda tight with my side. Going around back, we found the door opening up again and saw everyone was still safe.

Helping Willie up, I climbed in after, and with a bungee cord, pulled the door closed again. Then, Larry turned on a Coleman camping light, one of the Quad Pros that lit up the entire interior.

I knelt down next to Odessa, and held out my hand as I talked, "Okay, Willie's the only one who can drive this, and he needs sleep. So the rest of us guys are going to take shifts guarding everyone else."

"You been up a lot," Larry observed, "How 'bout Porter an' me do first watch?"

"I like the sound of that," I confessed, "After four hours, Frank and I can take the next."

"Square deal," Larry accepted in his rural vernacular.

Odessa wrapped her arms around me as we laid down onto a large comforter, and I was out quick.

All of a sudden, my eyes were wide open. I wasn't in the trailer anymore, and realizing that I instantly rose up onto an elbow. I heard chuckling. The camping light was in the middle of the clearing I saw, and then I placed where I was relative to the truck.

"Mornin' Sunshine." came a familiar voice.

"Mister Grant," I surmised, when the dead, coal-eyed, shark-tooth face popped into view.

"Looks like you made you some new friends," he pointed out, and waved to all the rest bound to trees.

Grant's vampire existence regressed his age back to a young man, but he still had his old crotchety way about him. His granddaughter, Julie Grant had that trailer-trash tramp look about her, but the tweaker symptoms were gone.

Everyone was still alive, but I could tell from the bruised and bleeding face of Willie, that he didn't give up without a fight. For that matter, I became aware of the shiner on my cheek they must've landed on me while I was asleep.

Odessa stared at me with the most desperation in her tear-streaked face, but a gag in her mouth prevented her from saying anything.

"You gonna pay for what you did to mah daddy," Julie Grant said, and grabbed me by the throat and hefted me against one of the available trees. "Come 'ta think of it, I'ma gonna make my withdrawl raight now."

"Fuck you, bitch." My inner soldier was already comin' back.

Willie thought that was funny and chuckled, despite the ropes binding him to the tree. Then, a slap harder than anything I could recall, jolted my view over to Frank and Sam. I'd expected the kid to be endlessly crying, but instead he was totally withdrawn.

"Mah boy's dead 'cause of you, Chance," Mr. Grant told me.

"Well, if you wanna be technical," I began, "He was dead before. I just made it good an' proper kinda dead."

Out of nowhere, my own shotgun barrel was shoved up under my chin, with Julie looking to her grandpa for approval. "Can I do it, Granddaddy?"

"Now-now," Grandpa Grant admonished, "We don't waste good food."

"Fuck you too, dead-assed piece of shit," I seethed at the elder Grant.

"Careful thar," Mr. Grant warned, "Might decide to answer that with a little kiss from your lovely wife. Maybe test what else on me works better."

"An' I'll kill you slow if you touch her," I threatened back.

I caught Porter doing something with his hands, but avoided looking directly at him. It occurred to me, I didn't want the Grants looking either, and so decided to give them something else.

"Come here," I whispered, and nodded. "I'll tell 'ya somethin'."

"What?" Mr. Grant asked, and leans close with his ear to me.

Without warning, I slammed my head forward right into his temple. I learned to pull a good headbutt from my army drinking buddies, though I wasn't sure what it would do to a walking superhuman dead man.

Mr. Grant recoiled, grabbing the side of his head cursing, "Goddamn 'ya! I'ma gonna really give it to 'ya, ya summabitch!"

"Talk shit about my wife again, motherfucker!" I just let all my anger out at that moment. "Think I don't know how you were to your wife and your boy's wife? Ever wonder why Julie was all out scorin' meth with blowjobs before she vamped out? You fuckin' try that shit on me!"

"Ohh, you just wait, Chance!" Mr. Grant was all up in my face now, and this time with his old skinning knife up against my throat. "You just wait! I'ma gonna save your sorry ass for last!"

"M-m-mister Grant?" Porter sounded uncertain, and I couldn't see why. "You gotta let 'em go. You gotta let us all go."

"Why's that, retard?" Mr. Grant turned around to look.

The loud bang coincided with the sharp recoil of Mr. Grant's head, right into my face. I felt the blood running over my mouth before the pain from my nose registered.

Julie Grant's scream crossed over into an unholy screech, as she rushed Porter who never looked more scared in his life. Though, Porter's aim didn't waiver when he worked the bolt action and fired again.

His second shot got her square in the chest, knocking her down, but she scrambled to get up. Porter raced over to his brother, Larry, and deftly cut him free. Larry, in turn, swept up Willie's shotgun and waited for Julie to stand again before letting her have it a little higher from the first shot.

Mr. Grant was still all kinds of twitchy and that burning hate in his abyssal eyes beamed right at me. My head was rattled from the impact, with his, and Porter was apologetic while untying me. "Di'n't mean that. I shoulda known better."

"Perfectly alright, Porter," I dismissed it easily enough. "You did good."

"I do good," Porter repeated.

"Larry," I called over, and wringing out my hands before reaching over. "Mind if I borrow that?"

"Be my guest," Larry obliged and passed over the gun.

Tried and true, I placed the muzzle right up against the side of Mr. Grant's neck, right at the spinal column. The last crack of thunder ended it.

Everything was quiet for a moment, but I, Larry, and Porter remembered everyone else still tied and liberated them from their dendritic prisons. Our relief was put on hold, however, when we all heard rustling in the dark.

"Everyone, drop those weapons." It was a verbal rhythm I knew well.

"'Kay Porter," I said nicely to him. "Put it down. These're the good guys."

Several soldiers came into view with night vision goggles on their faces. One raised theirs up and addressed us. "We heard the weapons fire. Everyone alright?"

"Yeah," I answered, wiping blood off my face. "We got it. Thanks for showing up, though. Who're you all with?"

"75th Ranger Battalion out of Fort Benning," the army captain answered, "And you?"

"Nah, I'm out," I replied, "Was a mechanic. Ninety-One Bravo."

"We'll get'cha all out of here," the captain said.

Exhausted and emotionally spent, we walked away from the clearing under the illumination of flashlights hanging from Ranger webgear. Willie needed help, and none of us looked back. I heard other Rangers talking about the scene behind us.

"More fuckin' nightcrawlers," one said.

"I'll never bad-mouth a 91 Bravo again," the other replied.

I squeezed tighter with my hold around Odessa's waist, and she leaned her head on my shoulder all the way to the trucks they evacuated us on. The morning was spent with me looking out the back as mile after mile of road receded in the blissful dawn light.


End file.
